


the road is long, we carry on

by crystalemi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruises, Bucky Barnes Recovering, M/M, Milk And Cookies, Multi, Pet Therapy, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalemi/pseuds/crystalemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like Peggy, it’s mostly the fact that Peggy doesn’t like Bucky, but she still hoards Bucky’s things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allofthefandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/gifts).



> Song title (is relevant) from Born to Die by Lana del Ray (not relevant). English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistake. The whole story (both chapters) was Beta Read by [seekingsquake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingsquake), you have to thank her if it makes any sense, really.

The pup is a dumb idiot, Bucky thinks as he watches the smallest Golden Retriever he’s ever seen try and drag the giant blue hoodie to his cot next to Bucky’s bed. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like Peggy, it’s mostly the fact that Peggy doesn’t like Bucky, but she still hoards his things. She gnaws on his trainers, steals his dirty socks from the laundry basket, drags his favourite hoodies around the house and uses them to build her own personal blanket fort in Bucky’s room. She hates Bucky and she hates him even more when he’s spending lazy evenings with Steve and Sam on the couch, watching a movie. She must be the centre of attention at all given times and she certainly doesn’t like anyone kissing Steve. The few times they actually attempted to move their semi-platonic (on Bucky’s end) relationship into the sexual sphere, they had to quickly close the door to keep her out and eventually they gave up when she started crying and barking on the other side of it.

It’s quite hard for Bucky to find sex enjoyable per se, so it doesn’t help to be interrupted on those too-good-to-be-true days when he actually feels confident enough to initiate anything.

Bucky knows he’s putting up with her just because Steve likes her and Sam is such a softie when it comes to strays - Bucky wasn’t surprised when Sam brought the dumb pup home with him after saving her from the streets. Steve called her Peggy the moment she yipped at him and Bucky started calling her punk the morning she started a war with a sparrow. Bucky sure would have shot the sparrow himself since he hadn’t had a nightmare-free night for months and sure the sparrow chose the wrong window to go singing at. However, Peggy made twice the ruckus, almost lost her footing, and fell down on her cot, tangled in the too many blankets Sam had given her.

Bucky’s still not over the fact that she chose his room to begin with, since he tried to stay away from her most of his time at the beginning, to obviously no effect. Peggy is anything but reasonable, especially in her single-minded pursue of any possible way to annoy Bucky.

Steve always has the gall to call them cute when she decides to rob Bucky of his place on the couch between Sam and Steve; or when she forces him to play fetch with her ball; when she comes at five in the morning with her bright red leash in her mouth demanding to be taken out; when she huddles in Bucky’s favourite hoodie or steals food from Bucky’s hands whenever he’s lost in a resurfacing memory. She most definitely takes great pleasure in biting Bucky’s meat-and-blood fingers every chance she gets.

She’s a hellion and he ends up associating her more often with Steve than Peggy - although sometimes Steve, when he’s feeling nostalgic, likes to tell him how much Peggy is just like their old Peggy - Bucky is quite sure that Peggy wasn’t theirs as he doesn’t believe he loved her. He’s sure he’s never needed someone as much as he needs Steve and he’s never wanted someone as much as he wants Sam, but he never says anything, just in case those memories, those feelings just aren’t back yet.

Today he watches Peggy struggle with the too big hoodie and huffs irritably. He comes close to the pup and gently disentangles the cloth from her tiny teeth. Peggy jumps at his metal arms and scratches it, hurting herself in her process. She whines and he sighs, lifting her in both his arms and taking her to the living room.

He sits on the couch and takes the book - the first of “The Gulag Archipelago” by Solzhenitsyn, in Russian - which he left there on the corner table the day before, when Sam had come back from the VA meeting and demanded cuddles.

He lies down, keeping Peggy nestled on his abs and carefully opens the book where the stiletto marks the page he left off and starts reading from there. He’s soon caught in the chilling world of the book, lulled to a calm space by the sweet, sweet sound of the language, but he doesn’t slip into the past. The constant warm weight of the pup sleeping on his abdomen keeps him centred, anchored to the present, to the unforgiving hard couch. It keeps him in the flat he shares with the guy he needs to breath and the man he wants to share and the small pup that hates him but still spends all her time cuddling to him.

He falls asleep and like always when Peggy’s close, it’s not a nightmare that wakes him up, but the shifting of her paws, the loss of her weight. Only after, does he registers the sound of keys turning in the lock of the heavy-security door.

Peggy is yipping at Sam as he comes in, arms full of grocery bags. He talks nonsense to the pup, who follows him around, leaving Bucky alone on the couch. He slides the stiletto back in the book, then gets up and heads to the kitchen.

When he joins them, Sam smiles to him. He’s taking the groceries out of the bags, setting them on the isle to later put them away in their rightful places. Bucky slides in between Sam and the isle and rests his arms on Sam’s shoulders, basking in their closeness. He’s rewarded with a tender, barely there kiss on the lips.

Sam’s arms settle around his waist, and Bucky sighs in fragile contentment. Sam gently lays kisses all over Bucky’s face: on the curve of his strong jaw, on his nose and his chin dimple, on his high cheekbones. They both ignore the offended Peggy - who's assaulting Sam’s leg - in favour of basking in their moment of tenderness.

“How was today?” Sam asks him and his lips move against Bucky’s. He shivers pleasantly, still amazed he can feel such sensations. He’s still unable to take pleasure for granted, he doubts he ever will anyway. Long gone are the days when a warm body against his didn’t mean torture.

“Peggy’s been worse than ever…” he whispers, still too close to Sam, eyes close, just feeling.

“Must be ‘cause Steve was out yesterday night.” Sam mutters, kissing Bucky, who lets out a gentle whimper at the feel of his plump warm and wet lips against his chafed ones.

“Wanna take this to the bed?” Sam asks, slightly tightening his grip around Bucky’s waist.

Bucky shakes his head slowly, their noses still bumps together, making Sam chuckle. Bucky wishes he could find the words to express just how much he appreciates Sam and Steve’s patience in handling him, waiting for him, sticking around - they’re never angered by his mixed signals.

Not that he himself is actually sure of what his body craves and what his brain wants and what goes on in between is definitely a mystery to him, but he appreciates their careful waiting.

They never pamper him, but they never force him into anything that truly makes him uncomfortable either. He’s content, loved. They make sure he is, every day.

Sam sighs loudly when Peggy eventually starts barking. He takes a step back, breaking their embrace and crouches down to pet her.

She takes her share of love and nips on Sam’s fingers - Sam scolds her, but Bucky bets she’ll never care and she’ll keep nipping on their hands as long as she wants.

Once Peggy settles down on her cushion in the kitchen’s corner, they start making dinner. They talk about Steve’s top-secret mission as Sam leaves the cutting of the vegetables to Bucky in favour of beating the meat. They steam the vegetables and cook the huge steaks on the soapstone pan Steve bought on a whim.

They also put French fries in the oven and then set the table. They eat in silence, which Bucky appreciates. He might not want to admit it, but the food of the new century is such a guilty pleasure of his, he can’t help himself but savour every flavour. He’s been through a lot of the world’s cuisines already and he’s not going to stop any time soon.

Bucky occasionally sneaks Peggy small pieces of his steak; Sam pretends not to see, but smiles slightly. They never talk about it and Bucky insists Peggy just hates him.

They do the washing up, the radio turned up to a baseball programme to keep them comfortable in their silence. Bucky doesn’t feel like talking at all and Sam never feels the need to fill in for him. He does that for Steve, but after all, Steve enjoys listening to his loved ones talking about what happened in their day and what they love. He even enjoys having them rant on politics and justice and freedom and everything that makes him the National Anthem Personified.

Sam follows him to his room, Peggy trotting in tow. Bucky gently slides against Sam, chest to chest, he feels his body, explores it with both his hands. Sam shivers when the metal hand meets his bare skin.

Sam doesn’t bruise easily, and when he does, the bruises are just a darker shade of his skin colour. He doesn’t scar easily either, but when he does, the scars are much lighter and make a greater contrast with his skin tone. Bucky can’t help being driven to his scars and bruises every time Sam’s t-shirt comes off. He has all the scars mapped out, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t trace all of them every night. The bruises are mostly gone, though, he notices, secretly pleased.

Sam had gone on a mission with Steve only a week before and while he’d gotten off with a few huge bruises, Steve had been a mess of cuts, bullet holes and one giant bruise encompassing all of his back, part of his abdomen and half of his ass.

On Steve, two days later, every mark was long gone, no trace whatsoever left.

Bucky likes Sam’s skin most. All the scars, all the bruises, they are the pain Sam has known, they show the strength of the man, of the beating heart. They anchor Bucky to reality in their own way.

He’s taken to map them every night, they settle him. Sam leaves him do it, enjoys the feel of Bucky’s hands on his bare skin.

Bucky wishes he could take off his own t-shirt, he can’t wait for the day he’ll be able to show Sam he’s so human too, all the intricate ways his scars paint his chest and back.

He leans his head on Sam’s shoulder, appreciating the strength of the arms holding him close. Sam kisses his forehead, gently and treasuring. Bucky exhales louder than his usual, he revels in the closeness and the gentleness.

Today is a good day, the touch of Sam’s skin only giving him the good shivers.

Sam leaves him with a thorough kiss, Bucky letting him explore the inside of his mouth, for once reciprocating with confidence.

Bucky slips under the heavy comforter only when he hears the sound of the shower from the ensuite bathroom of the other bedroom. Peggy grumbles and shifts around her cot, adjusting the hoodie she stole that afternoon with her blankets. Bucky wonders why she happens to respect his nightly ritual of skin mapping, but he’s not used to looking a gift horse in the mouth, so he doesn't.

She eventually finds the best position and settles down, with a loud yawn. Bucky closes his eyes and her loud breathing from the foot of his bed lulls him to sleep.

***

When he awakens he comes to all of a sudden, there’s no grogginess or sleepiness left. He’s asleep one second and wide awake the next, like a switch has been flipped on in his brain.

He’s not used to waking up in the night without a nightmare lingering in his sleep deprived hindbrain, but now his senses are all on red alert and it takes him a few seconds to recognize the low growling as Peggy’s.

She’s nowhere he can see, but he can hear what woke her up.

The soft sound of someone walking on the ball of his sock-clad feet catches his entire attention. Bucky’s hand shifts under the pillow and comes out with an army's standard issue knife from the eighties. He softly, deadly silent, slides his feet to the floor, the thick carpet absorbing any other minimal sound he might have made.

It’s not enough, because whoever’s on the other side of the door stills. Bucky reaches for the handle, turns it gently, well aware he’s lost the advantage anyway.

The door creaks open, a creepy sound that breaks through the thick fog of his rampaging adrenaline like an ominous omen.

“It’s me, sorry,”

All of Bucky’s muscles relax as he realizes the hoarse voice coming from the other side of the door is Steve’s. The door opens wide and he can see the beaten up figure of a dead tired Captain America.

“Didn’t want to wake you up,” he mutters hoarsely and Bucky can only guess he’s been strangled at some point during the fight. Bucky’s not exactly happy about having Steve go on missions alone or staying behind himself, but he only feels so when he sees that no one has Steve’s back if he and Sam are together at home.

However he looks at it, he’s still not ready to get back on the field, they all know and he can’t help it - he’s doing his best to come back completely, to accept everything he’s done, everything he’s lost.

“Peggy woke me,” he mutters, and he suddenly realizes it’s the actual truth. Steve smiles gently and looks down at the pup. She’s sitting next to Steve’s foot, patiently waiting to be petted. He’s the only one she actually listens to, and it may be because he's the only one making an effort to train her.

When Steve’s eyes make contact with Peggy’s, she jumps to her feet and roll on her back. He leans down and scratches her belly, a soft _beautiful_ smile lighting up his beaten up face.

When Steve stands up, he sneaks an arm around Bucky’s waist and kisses him possessively. Bucky whispers and takes Steve’s face in his hands, keeping them attached to the lips. Steve groans, from pain or pleasure Bucky cannot say, not until Steve presses up against Bucky, their body slotting together into place like a well oiled machine, and he kisses him senseless. Bucky’s tongue opens Steve’s lips, and ravenously explores his mouth, eliciting a hungry moan in return. They don’t stop until air becomes a priority again and they only separate barely enough to breath. The coppery taste of blood lingers between their wet and swollen lips, a reminder of Steve’s condition.

“Goodnight, jerk,” Steve mutters, before leaning down again, capturing his lips again, but for a gentler kiss this time.

As Steve lets go of his lips, Bucky draws in a trembling breath, and slowly exhales. Steve reproachfully disentangles from their embrace and picks up his cowl from the ground, where he must have dropped it at some point.

“G’night, punk,” he mutters as Steve turns and heads toward the bedroom he shares with Sam.

He falls asleep, listening to Steve and Sam whispering and Peggy breathing deeply. She somehow ended up on his comforter, at the foot of his bed, just like every other night.


	2. Sam

It’s seven in the morning and Sam is relaxing at the isle, reading the newspaper Steve bought on their run and sipping his morning coffee, bidding his time before he has to get up and go make a living.

Bucky’s out with Peggy, braving the new world to take her on a walk. It’s been more than a week since he first went out and, although Bucky’s still scared he might accidentally crack some poor passer-by’s skull open, he’s doing quite lovely.

He’s actually doing better than any shrink they saw thought he could ever be, and considering none of them knew half of the horrors Bucky’s gone through and still believed he was beyond hope, Sam is quite proud of his lover.

Steve shuffles in the kitchen, heavily dragging his feet against the floor. When Sam looks up at him, he finds him still gently drying his hair with a towel. He looks conflicted, but Sam still has a hard time guessing what might be on his mind, since Steve is only wearing his boxers and nothing else.

Sam is only human, after all – but he bets that even a super soldier might get a bit side-tracked when confronted with such glorious abs and imposing chest and tiny waist and broad shoulders...

“Like what you see?” Steve asks, a tiny smile finally breaching through the dark thoughts. There goes the joke on dumb blondes, Sam thinks.

“Don’t like the background, y’ know,” he jokes and he’s rewarded by that same smile getting lighter and bigger.

“What, you want me to paint the flat?” Steve asks as he walks up to the fridge and gets his milk. He drinks too much milk and that’s starting to become an inside joke between the Avengers, especially when someone else’s drinking habits make an appearance and things get dark quickly. Steve never minds being the butt of that joke, he once told Sam it’s welcome to be called a baby, when most of the times he’s a fossil.

“Nah, just think a bed’s better,” he goes on. Steve flashes a smile as he pours two glasses of milk for both of them and soon he hands Sam his.

Steve quickly sobers up, maybe finally ready to tell Sam what’s on his mind.

“I did something stupid yesterday night,” Steve starts. He leans against the counter and looks down at his milk. Sam sighs, he heard that.

“We kissed,” Steve mutters, then adds, louder, “Quite deeply.”

Sam shrugs. He did hear them, the quiet moans impossible to miss with an open door, anyway.

“He didn’t sound like he was against it,” he simply states, downing what’s left of his milk.

“Was it too soon?” Steve asks, revealing what he’s been turning around his pretty head during the whole of their morning run.

Sam sighs, wondering when exactly he signed up to counsel for two ninety-something year-old super soldiers with an emotional baggage that could have lasted for a few of their lifetime with them settling down with a family and a dog, but instead they go getting beaten up at all possible times of day and collecting even more baggage.

Maybe he’s crazier than the crazy, he thinks.

“Steve, he shouldn’t want to go out and take the pup on a walk, but _he does_ ,” he answers. Steve looks ready to disagree, so Sam adds, “If there’s something I’ve learned 'bout Bucky is that he doesn’t do what he doesn’t want to do.”

Steve attempts a small smile, not convinced, but eventually he says “Not anymore, at least,” and it sounds more like a question, so Sam just nods his agreement.

***

They’ve been talking about the previous night’s baseball game, when the door opens and a fur ball comes barrelling into the kitchen, aimed for her water bowl.

Bucky follows at a leisurely pace. He’s eating a chocolate bar, proof that he’s stopped somewhere to buy it and has actually interacted with at least one more human being. He looks pleased and calm, so it must be a good day.

Sam thinks Bucky’s been having more and more good days since he brought Peggy home. He might end up looking into the pet therapy program of his VA section more closely. If Peggy can make a brainwashed world war two veteran like Bucky feel better and sleep at night, then dogs might do miracles for more _classical_ PTSD-suffering veterans.

Bucky polishes off his bar as he sits at the isle next to Sam. He eyes Steve’s milk glass – still half-full – with disdain and orders Steve to get him orange juice.

Sam has no idea why Bucky doesn’t trust milk, but he’s not going to ask, ever. It’d probably be too much even for him.

Steve and Bucky banter about Steve not taking orders from jerks – Bucky must have gotten some memories back as the word jerk (and punk too) tended to confuse him and upset Steve, and it must be something recent too. Sam shrugs to himself and takes his time to scratch Peggy’s belly.

She happily lets him pet her. Sam has never thought he’d find petting a pup relaxing, but he’s never been more wrong in his whole life.

Well, actually, there was that one time he thought Captain America was the epitome of self-confidence and it actually turned out he’s just a big adorable dork, but hey, not complaining either, really.

Sam eventually has to get up and go to work, so he kisses Steve and Bucky goodbye on the lips and pets Peggy on the head, puts on his shoes, grabs his coat and goes out.

By the time lunch is gone he’s feeling a bit under the water, probably coming down with the flu, a few months later than any other decent human being.

He has his last meeting of the day at four, then he puts his thing away and warns his colleagues he might call in sick in the morning, and finally, _finally_ , walks out and takes the subway home.

Bucky today isn’t sleeping on the couch with Peggy using his abdomen as a pillow, instead, they’re both in the kitchen and the whole house smells of fresh-out-of-the-oven butter cookies. It kind of smells like Christmas at his ma’s place.

Bucky’s in the kitchen and he’s staring at the huge quantity of cookies he made, Peggy is on his lap and she’s squirming between his hands to get to the food.

“I’m confused.” Bucky says, the moment Sam hand’s meets his metal shoulder. Sam makes a non-committal sound with the back of his sore throat, wondering whether they can eat all the cookies or if he should take a few to the neighbours.

“They looked,” Bucky goes on and makes a gesture at the cookies. They come in all shapes, all of them from the Christmas cutters set Sam bought once on a whim and never actually used. Bucky shrugs when the word doesn’t come to him and unhelpfully adds, “Different.”

“Where’s the recipe?” Sam asks, wondering what the poor cookies problem is. They all look good, almost cook-book perfect.

“I don’t remember,” Bucky answers, his brows furrows in concentration, but nothing else comes out of him. Sam’s not sure how to proceed with short-term memory loss. Bucky’s always had issues with his long-term memory, he never showed short-term losses, he never even misplaced his keys, which is something Steve does on a daily basis.

“Do you think it was a book or the internet?” he asks then, as Bucky doesn’t exactly like the internet yet and uses it as little as possible. However, if he’s used the internet, it’d be easier to find the page again.

“There,” Bucky starts then stop mid-sentence as is his usual every time he gets confused. He eventually, after only a few seconds, says “there wasn’t the internet.”

“Was it in your head?”

Bucky looks up at him, as he pulls Peggy against his abdomen. She quiets down, Bucky nods.

Then, Sam thinks, there’s nothing else they can do. He takes one cookie and still staring at Bucky he bites down. It tastes heavenly, better than his ma’s – which is a feat of itself.

Bucky stares, doesn’t ask but he still gets his answer when Sam snatches another one from the tray. There’s no way Sam is going to share with the neighbours, that’s for sure.

“Didn’t know you baked?” Sam asks as he leaves Bucky and goes to fetch some milk and a kettle to heat it up.

“I think Steve was shit at both baking and cooking?” Bucky answers, unsure. Sam chuckles.

“Still is.”

Bucky smiles fondly. He takes courage and starts talking about nights spent together at Steve’s cold place. Once he starts, it’s a like a dam has been broken and much more information and simple memories resurface.

Sam, while listening to Bucky, sets up some milk for himself and tea for his lover, grabs a handful of cookies and they have dinner like that.

“Steve never cooked, really. He can do broth, but who can’t?” Bucky is telling him. Sam smiles, taking note of how sweetly Bucky is petting Peggy, who’s asleep after having gotten a few crumbles from Bucky’s share of cookies.

“I think Dun Dun banned him from being close to the pots those few time we could-” he stops suddenly and looks down at Peggy, who’s now awaken and ready to jump. When the door of the flat opens, Sam wonders if maybe Bucky’s able to sleep better now because he knows that there’s a naturally alert soul standing watch. He makes a note again to look more into pet therapy.

“Am I back in Nineteen-Fourty?” Steve asks from the entry way. Bucky and Peggy both relax at once and Peggy wiggles her way out of Bucky’s hold and trots out of the kitchen, meeting Steve in the entryway.

Steve picks her up and comes in, smiling one of his genuine sweet smiles that Sam loves so much.

“Bucky baked us cookies, secret recipe.”

Steve smile at Sam and gets closer to Bucky, he kisses him on the lips, whispering a thank you right on his lips.

“Do they look right?” Bucky asks, the confusion he had forgotten coming back with a vengeance.

Steve looks at them, steals one of Sam’s cookies – as if there isn’t a huge tray overflowing with them right in front of him. He eats it in two bites, possibly swallows them whole.

“They taste almost the same,” he says, then muttering he adds “Look better, tho.”

“How did they look?” Bucky presses, and Steve shrugs.

“We didn’t have anything fancy to cut them, we used glasses sometimes,” he reveals and Bucky’s eyes widen, as if he finally remembers.

“You used to cut them with a knife,” he says, Steve lights up and nods, excited.

“It was faster,” Steve says and he sits down next to Sam. Peggy settles at his feet with a huff and Steve takes a handful of cookies from the tray and devours them.

“Slow down, you’ll get sick.” Bucky warns him, and it’s maybe out of a lost habit, as obviously Steve doesn't get sick.

“How was your day, Sam?” Steve asks, and while Sam answers – he might be coming down with the flu, the meeting went smoothly, Katy’s on maternity starting next week so on and so forth – Bucky gets up and picks up the milk from the fridge. Sam and Steve both stare at him from the corner of their eyes, without stopping their talk.

Bucky pours some milk in the kettle Sam used, puts it on the stove and he waits by until the milk is almost boiling. He pours it in a glass on the counter and stares it down for a few minutes, looking angry and confused.

Eventually, when the milk is room-temperature, he takes it in a shaking hold and turns to the isle to put it down – with too much force – in front of Steve, who silently accept it and dips his cookies in it. Sam smiles when Bucky, however shaky, sits back down in front of them.

Sam smiles brightly at him and Bucky tries to smile back. It comes out more like a grimace, but Sam knows a huge step forward when he sees it.

That night, before bed, Bucky doesn’t just map Sam’s scars. He kisses them all.

**Author's Note:**

> first and foremost, I’m sorry allofthefandoms for how little in-depth this stories are. Also the second story wasn’t planned at first, I kind of forgot the main character should have been Sam, so I tried to remedy with a second story. It didn’t work, but at least there’s one more (crappy) Steve/Sam/Bucky out there? Please forgive me.  
> As a technical note, I have no idea whether ovens existed in Brooklyn in the 30’s or if butter cookies recipe was commonly known at all. So yeah, I’m sorry just in case.  
> Dogs for vets are a thing, and the species they use are Golden Retrievers and Labradors. I invite you to read a lovely Smithsonian’s article: How Dogs Can Help Veterans Overcome PTSD by Chris Colin if you want to know more or make this pups for superheroes thing yours too.  
> Last but not least, since I did both Bucky and Sam, I might write Steve too. Bucky and Steve get influenced very differently by Peggy (Bucky finds relief from her presence alone while Steve remembers how to be assertive instead of aggressive. They both learn how to deal with intimacy by having easy contact with her.)
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it!


End file.
